Failure Is Just Another Name For Trying Too Hard
by ShadowSpires
Summary: Jason made Dick a promise, one he intended to keep. Jason has made a lot of promises in his life. Part of the Deja Vu series. Set after "Through a Glass Darkly", and before "And Here at the End of All Things". JayDick.


They had almost made it to safety when movement flickered in the corner of Jason's eyes. A lifetime of training took over in that instant, and he moved before the intention to do so fully registered. The next few moments were a blur of movement that resolved itself into him pinning his smaller, older brother to a crumbling wall, bracketed safely in his arms. They stood frozen for the briefest moment before Dick's pained scream made panic override Jason's instincts and kickstart his mind. The splash of blood across his brother's face was life-red, heart-red, and Jason was terrified for a moment that he had been too late, too slow, that the bright flame of Dick's life was guttering out before him.

Then the pain hit, cold and sharp. Strange. Pain usually registered hot in his senses, driving away in bright flashes the grave-cold that clung to him since he clawed his way out of his own coffin. That relief from the cold had sent him seeking the scorching comfort of bruises and broken skin for far too long. Chasing damage and danger with the impunity of one who has already faced death once, and lost.

It wasn't that he lacked a healthy fear of dying - of a return to that nothingness he remembered fleetingly from just before he came drowning back to life in the Pit. He just had an inescapable compulsion to spit in Death's face and defy it for as long as possible, with as much style as he could manage.

He feared Death wholly, as completely as only one who has already died once can, and he had been desperate to prove himself alive, even when that proof risked his life. Dick had reached out to him then, when he was self-destructing in a desperate attempt to keep *feeling*, and had showed him other, less destructive ways to feel alive.

Dick was reaching out to him again, now, mouth moving is words Jason wasn't hearing, Face bone white beneath the blood, eyes wild. He caught Jason's elbows, hands like welcome brands, hot against his skin. When his knees gave out, Dick lowered him to the ground while ice spread through him, radiating from where the blade pierced his side.

Oh Yeah. That.

Speaking of Death.

"Dick?" Jason could hear his voice, thin with fear as he clutched weakly at Dick's arms. No, not yet. There was one more thing he had to do before Death could have him. He groped briefly for his knife, the kris blade that he had somehow managed to keep through everything. His grip failed, and frustrated, terrified tears welled in his eyes as the cold swelled, fighting the warmth of Dick's hands as they tried desperately to press around the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, begging him not to go, not the leave him all alone.

Jason's hands fell limp at his side, his body failing him.

The world was already growing dark at the edges, and Jason couldn't help but whisper an apology on a stuttering breath. He wasn't sure who it was for. He'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't leave Dick alone in this broken world; his brother, his lover, his safe harbor, his broken darling. Haunted by the ghosts of their siblings, both sacrificed to this doomed rear-guard they were fighting. He'd sworn on their memories - to Tim, and to Damian - that he wouldn't leave Dick alone. Worst of all, he'd sworn it to Dick. On the last shreds of his tattered, muddy soul he'd sworn it, and he had failed.

If he could gather the strength, could raise his lethally sharp knife, he would plunge it into the back of his brother's neck, so open and vulnerable where he lay weeping against Jason's chest, bereft of everyone he loved. Everyone except Jason. Now Jason was leaving him too, and the younger man could not even gather the strength for that last act of mercy; to release his brother from this nightmare world.

He would have laughed, if he still could; he would kill his brother himself, to spare him this pain. Yet he had stepped in front of the knife that would have done his work for him. Maybe he was still at heart a selfish child; unwilling to be the last in this world even if it meant Dick's suffering. Maybe he just couldn't bear the thought of Dick dead. Especially not by the hands of someone who did not love him, did not fully know what they were removing from the world. Maybe it had just been instinct. Jason had always tried so hard to save those he loved from pain. Looks like he had failed once again.

He could not spare Dick's suffering; could not sever his life by his own hands, nor allow it to be stolen by another. Instead, he could only watch as Dick, irrepressible bright spark, stubborn asshole and endless font of hope, stilled his sobbing and looked up. His eyes were completely empty, icy rage twisting his face into a rictus, but not effecting those soulless pits. His entire body flowed with sinuous grace as he stood, overcome by the darkness that had always lived so perfectly balanced inside him, focused on those who had dared to take his last family from him.

Jason found the breath for one last noise, pain and grief and fear of what was to come. The ice in Dick's eyes cracked as he looked at his dying brother, and the ocean of agony in that gaze had Jason choking on a sob, on blood, on the consuming ice smothering the last embers of his life. He had done this, caused this pain. Dick knelt again at Jason's side, murmuring words Jason could not hear, but knew to be comforts and forgiveness.

Even standing in the heart of darkness, Dick was a better man than he. God, he loved him. He should have known it would end like this. He always failed the ones he love the most.

Dick leaned over him, and the very last thing that Jason felt before Death stole him again into it's kingdom, was Dick's warm hands on his face, and the feather soft brush of lips against his.


End file.
